Twilight Rising
by Silver Spider
Summary: Choose: nightmarish reality or blissful delusion. A fic that ties together Short Hair, To Sleep, Perchance to Dream, and Dark Side of the Moon. GutsCasca. 4th in a series.


_**Author's Note: **_I return! Thank you for all your wonderful reviews on my earlier fics. I'm both surprised and incredibly flatered bows A forth fic in the series that starts with "Short Hair", "To Sleep, Perchance to Dream", and "Dark Side of the Moon." Read those first or you'll be confused. For the record, I absolutely hate writing the Skull Knight. Love the character. Hate writing him. It's too,damn hard! Unfortunately for me, this isn't the last time he'll appear in these stories. Again, all these fics make better sense if you've read at least past vol 28. Enjoy and please review!

**Twilight Rising**

**By: Silver Spider**

When the inn loomed on the horizon of the hill, an audible sigh of relief resonated throughout the group. They had not stepped off the road once in the many weeks that had passed since they left Elfhelm. Isidro and Puck loudly complained that they absolutely had to stop for the night or at least for dinner. Serpico and Farnese were less vocal, but the young noblewoman did quietly point out that it would be nice to sleep in a real bed for one night. Even Schierke, who was usually very fond of the outdoors, was looking tiered. Guts finally caved and agreed.

The inside of the inn was not terribly crowed, which was not at all surprising since the building stood virtually in the middle of nowhere, but it was clean enough. The plump waitress with grease stains on her formally white apron smiled at the travelers and led them to a long wooden table with benches on either side. Guts, Casca, and Schierke took one side, while Isidro, Serpico, and Farnese took the other. The two elves settled in the middle of the table.

The innkeep's wife returned a few moments later with two baskets of freshly baked bread and six bowls of hot soup. The dinner that night was honey roasted duck, and two were placed in front of them on the table, along with a stack of clean plates.

"Where are we off to now?" Isidro asked, his mouth fill of duck. Puck slunk around to the boy's plate and snatched a piece before he could bat him away. Isidro stuck his tongue out at the elf but he was more interested in the answer to his question than in chasing after the little thief.

All eyes immediately turned to Guts expectantly, but the Black Swordsman only shrugged.

"You've all always been free to go wherever you want," he reminded them.

Isidro made a face, and Farnese looked down quietly, a slightly rejected look on her face. Schierke glanced between the other members of the group before settling on the same look that the young noblewoman wore. Casca, on the other hand, furrowed her brow in annoyance and pocked him in the side.

"Don't be rude," she told him. "They're our friends."

"Exactly," Guts agreed, "and we already went through the loss of friends before."

"You think I forgot?" she snapped.

"Hey!" Isidro waved his hands between them. "I know arguing is like foreplay for you two, but you still haven't answered my question." He paused, rolled his eyes, and rephrased. "Okay, Guts. Where are _you_ off to, bro?"

Guts opened his mouth, an answer on the tip of his ting, but then closed it again. He realized he was not at all sure of what it would be.

"To get some air," he announced, getting up from the table. "Don't wait up for me."

The inn's front door squeaked behind him as he was followed out by the groups collective gazes. An uncommonly dark but warm night welcomed him outside. He looked up, but only stars greeted him in the sky. The full moon from a few weeks ago was now almost completely gone with only a sliver of silver remaining behind. He did not find that at all comforting. While the moon's light was not nearly as effective as the sun at warding off evil, a night with the light from a full moon was likely to prove less trouble than a night of complete darkness.

A wind that seemed to come out of nowhere blew across the open space, ruffling the leaves of the nearby trees. Guts did not even bother to turn around and look. Apparently the dark night brought more than just demons and the damned to him. The wind subsided, replaced by the hollow echo of the hooves of a horse that was not of this world.

"Well," the swordsman commented casually, "been a long time. Haven't seen you since before Elfhelm."

The knight in skeleton-like armor on his ghostly mount ventured closer until he was only a few feet away from Guts. He did not speak for several moments, and though Guts never knew quite what the specter was thinking, he had a distinct feeling he was being studied.

"You are troubled, struggler," the knight finally said, his voice bearing the usual echo which made him sound not quite human.

Guts only shrugged. "What else is new? But we haven't been attacked by anything particularly nasty yet, so I guess things are as good as they usually get."

"The inhuman forces have been... preoccupied of late," the knight informed him. "Much has happened in your absence. Even as we speak, the followers of the Hawk grown in numbers, entranced by his false facade."

Guts gritted his teeth and snarled a curse under his breath. "Then I guess they better enjoy the blissful ignorance while it lasts. And I doubt he gets terribly attached to silly things like us mere mortals now a day, so they should be fairly safe from being sacrificed."

The knight cocked his head to the side as if considering his words.

"What of you, struggler?" he asked. "What will you do now? Will you pursue the Hawk?"

"I thought about it," Guts replied honestly, "but I don't know. When Casca was... ill, I thought that revenge would be all I'd ever have, but now that she's herself again, I have to wonder. I have chosen the sword, chosen to chase _him_, over her every time, and it has yet to end well. Maybe it's time I choose someone I love over someone I hate."

"I see," there was no emotion in the knight's voice.

If Guts could see any pupils in the hollows of the Skull Knight's eyes, he would have said they were looking past him. The swordsman glanced over his shoulder to see Casca standing just a few feet behind him. In the back of his mind, he thought that she must have really become well reacquainted with her warrior skills because he had not even heard her approach. Outwardly, he only frowned. How long _had_ she been standing there?

"So, you're the infamous Skull Knight I keep hearing about," Casca mused aloud. "I have to say, I didn't think the name would fit so well."

"You are the branded girl," the knight observed. "Welcome back to the waking world. I am certain you are finding it a harsher place than when you left it."

"I'll survive," Casca gave him a look. "What's with the 'branded girl' label? I have a real name, unlike some people."

"Don't mind him," Guts intervened. "He does that to me too. Is there something else?" he asked the knight.

"No. I merely wished to know your further plan. What thread destiny would choose."

"I told you, I don't know," Guts replied. "But if you like, I can inform you when I do."

Not that he had any idea how to contact the Skull Knight if need be. He never had a reason to.

"Do not bother," the Skull Knight veered his horse back into the darkness. "I will know regardless."

Then he was gone.

Guts stared after him for a long moment before finally turning back to face Casca. He half expected her to launch into a full on lecture about the way he left her and the others back at the inn, but she stood in silence watching him. Her loose tunic moved slightly with the night's breeze and for a second he thought he saw the brand on her left breast through the fabric. Or maybe he just remembered about it. Her face was unreadable – not vacant, thank fate – like she was expecting him to say something. Whatever he thought about the role of the others in the story, Casca, at least, deserved be included in his planning process, such as it was. Because she was just as branded as he, just as entangled in this dance of fate. Resigned, he extended his hand.

"I think we need to talk."

Casca nodded slowly, placing her hand in his, and they both sat down in the grass. Funny how neither felt comfortable within four walls after spending most of their lives outside. He was silent for a long moment, wondering just how to begin. Casca waited patiently, her dark eyes searching his face.

"I don't know what to say," he admitted with a humorless laugh. "I think everyone in there," he jerked his thumb in the direction of the inn, "is under the impression that I have this long-term master plan, that I have this all figured out. But you know that's not how I think."

Casca nodded, but her smile at least was genuine. "Tell me what you _are_ thinking."

He took a deep breath. "I spent years with nothing on my mind but revenge. You know I've always lived by the sword, but this is different. This hatred... it was in every part of me. I woke up thinking about vengeance and I went to sleep with the same thought. My dreams were filled with nothing but red and black, blood and gore.

"Then at the Tower of Conviction, I gained purpose for the first time since the Eclipse: protecting you. It didn't mean I hated them any less, but at least I felt I was doing something worth while. I didn't think of what would happen when you came back, because I honestly didn't know if you ever would."

"And now that I _am_ back," she asked quietly. "What are you thinking now?"

"I think I don't want to loose you again. Ever. In any way. I don't want the hatred within me to win," he was referring to the nameless entity that manifested within his dreams and in the physical world whenever he donned the Berserk armor as a giant black demonic dog. "I used to not care. Anger and rage was all I had without you. But it matters now. So I will do as you say. If you want to run, find another haven like Elfhelm, that's what I'll do."

He was finished, a little surprised that he'd actually been able to articulate everything that had been jumbled in his head since Elfhelm. Guts had always been better with the sword than with words. But Casca seemed to understand him nonetheless. It occurred to him that he had no idea what she was thinking, what she wanted. So much had changed.

"In my dream," she finally said, and he knew she was talking about the years she'd spent in delusion, "none of this existed. We have a little cottage outside in the middle of nowhere, and we're raising our son. The others come to visit every once in a while. Judeau and Pippin and Rickert and even Corkus. They tease us because they never thought we'd settle down, but everyone's happy."

"Sounds nice," Guts smiled, and he meant it.

"It was," she agreed, "but it wasn't real. On some level I knew it wasn't, but I clung to it anyway. I don't want that again. If we run and hide now, I'm afraid it's just going to be a version of that delusion. You can only keep the real world at bay for so long. We still wear the brands, and until they're removed, you know we'll never get a single night of peace."

He had not considered it that way.

"If we fight," he said slowly, "and we die, at least it'll finally be over. But if by some miracle we fight and win and live..."

Her smile was alight. "Then the dream will be real. Either way, we'll be fighting for the future, not the past. Don't misunderstand, Guts, I do miss the Hawks. I think about them every day and feel the loss. But they're gone, and nothing we do now will bring them back. All we can do is honor their memory, but we fight for ourselves, for a chance at happiness, no matter how remote."

Even in the dim moonlight, he could see a sparkle in her dark eyes. The look of a warrior ready for battle. It was the old Casca, the woman who would fight for what she believed. The woman he loved. Guts grinned.

"If we're going to face the armies of Hell, you're going to need better armor," he gestured at her loose tunic. She had an enchanted mail from Flora back at the inn, but other than that, none of her old armor or weapons had survived. A thought suddenly struck him, and Guts made a face. He could kick himself for not thinking of it earlier. Casca frowned at his expression and gave him a questioning look.

"I'm an idiot," he explained. "I can't believe I almost forgot. I know exactly where we're going next; we're going to see Rickert."

_**Author's End Note:**_ Okay I'm going to hold off on commenting on this fic till after I hear some feedback. I do have reasons for doing things the way I did, but I want to hear what you guys think. Afterword, I'll respond directly and in the author's note of the next fic. Yes, there is more coming! Thanks again for reading.


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